


Business and Pleasure

by DMichelleWrites



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Life, Mutual Masturbation, Olicity Valentine's Day Smut-A-Thon, OlicityValentinesDaySmutAThon2018, Oral Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMichelleWrites/pseuds/DMichelleWrites
Summary: Oliver and Felicity have to spend their first Valentine's Day as newlyweds in Gotham. Despite an interruption from the couple's mutual friend with an affinity for business, bats, and billions of dollars, Star City's favorite power couple still manages to have a fun, sexy night alone together.





	Business and Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Galentine's/Valentine's Day, lovlies. I do hope you enjoy my small contribution to a plethora of fanfiction today. Wth a trip to Gotham, you know how to include Broody Bruce Wayne, and a fun nod to Alfred's relationship with Raisa. Sexiness is ever present of course.
> 
> Fun facts: I was reading a novel called _You_ by Caroline Kepnes. It's the super creepy, yet intriguing romantic thriller and it's one of Emily Bett Rickards' favorite books, but that's where my inspiration for the green pillow came in. 
> 
> Also, my awesome and equally nerdy boyfriend, who always keeps me laughing, switch the whiskey with straight up tequila, and you have one silly conversations. So thanks, Honey. My man and I also "celebrate" V-Day on the 15th. Maybe we're weird, but it's when chocolate and wine are cheaper. I was raised to understand a holiday isn't a big deal. Show the person you love that you love them every day in small ways, so I look forward to a lot of good reading today.

Gotham is the city that never sleeps. The hustle and bustle die down when a familiar red and black Ducati streak through traffic on the bridge. A lovely couple, Star City’s platinum standard, walks into a bar. His palm splays out delicately against cotton/lace and a hint of bare back. Their platinum wedding rings gleam under low fluorescent lights.

Felicity whispers playfully into her husband’s ear, “Hm, want to play a game?”

“What game are we playing exactly?”

“Pretend we don’t know each other, and you try to pick me up at the bar.”

His eyebrow quirks, he huffs, “Really?”

“Please,” insists the blonde hacker, giving her best adorable you-can’t-say-no pout.

He pulls away, walking to the side entrance of this little dive bar nestled between a local theatre and a coffee shop. She perches on a red stool, ordering her usual gin and 7UP. Oliver waits until the bartender slides the glass into her hand. He adjusts the collar of his navy cargo jacket, approaching his wife as if he’s recently stepped straight out a _GQ_ cover shoot.

“H-hi.” He introduces.

Why he’s nervous makes no sense to him, much less to the patrons snickering in the seats nearby. This woman is actually his wife for God’s sake.

With a flick of her ponytail, she dismisses. “Not interested.”

“ _Felicity_ ,” Oliver mutters through his teeth.

“ _Oliver_ ,” mimics his wife. She clears her throat, “Look, buddy. I don’t know who you think you are, but the name's Kuttler, Rebekah Kuttler.”

Her man plays along with a sauve smile, “Connor Dearden. At the risk of being forward, do you mind if I buy you another drink?”

Felicity jabs his ribs, teasing, “My God. How did you ever get so many women to sleep with you? Are you telling me those are your best panty-dropping moves?”

He stares at her pointedly. “Well, I had a good wingman, my best friend. His name was Tommy.”

“Was?”

Oliver delves into whole the dead best friend story — a fictional one, which involves a major car accident after a baseball game. His blue eyes are wet, though no tears shed. Despite the cat and mouse game they’re playing, real emotions break through, Felicity interlaces their fingertips in a tight hold.

“I miss him everyday. But enough the past, tell me about yourself Rebekah.”

Felicity thinks, “Well, I work as an astronaut for NASA. We’re hoping to explore other planetary terrain in multiple universes.”

“Wow! Very impressive.” Oliver whistles, dimples prodding his cheeks.

She nurses another sip of her cocktail while he orders a glass of their best vodka.

Tucking a wavy strand behind her ear, she leans in closer, “And what is it that you do, Mr. Dearden?”

Oliver laughs, turning on the charm, his voice more relaxed, “No need to be so formal, Ms. Kuttler. I’m an announcer for the Star City Rockets.”

She slaps his thigh, “My, my, so far away from Washington, aren’t we, Dorothy?”

“It was Kansas, Babe.” He corrects, breaking character.

Felicity plays with his red tie, “Oy vey, I know that. Just keep going, huh?”

“Right.” Her man nods, explaining, “Well, it’s Fan Fest weekend, and they have a practice game against the Mets.”

“I see.”

Oliver asks, “So are you in town for business or pleasure?”

“Both,” replies Felicity, squeezing his bicep

They carry on the conversation like two strangers who first met this very night. Granted, their current life isn’t ideal, but they won’t change it for anything. Fantasys are interesting, but they don’t last forever. Oliver and Felicity are back to themselves when appetizers arrive their way. Felicity munches on a corn dish served right from the skillet, loaded with umptious melted cheese and hot pastrami bits. Oliver opts for some spicy chicken wings with a honey mustard dip.

His calloused palm drapes over her knee, sliding up her creamy thigh. Suddenly, the temperature spikes so much hotter. And it isn’t because she’s wearing a denim jacket indoors. He presses a kiss just below her earlobe. Her two front teeth pinch those red lips.

Oliver’s breath tickles her ear, voice soft, yet rumbly and purposeful, “You look sexy.”

Her cheeks heat under his gaze, stuttering, “W-well, this skirt is new.”

“I wasn’t talking about the skirt.” Her husband corrects, fingertips grazing the outline of thin lace panties, “You look very sexy, Felicity.”

He grazes her clitoris ever so slightly over the barely there hidden fabric.

“Ah, Mm, Ol-Oliver.” She shudders, teeth digging deeper into her lip. “Other people are present.”

“I don’t care.” He nibbles on her earlobe before his lips slide down her neck.

He should. It’d be a massive political scandal. Felicity gives him her patent angry glare over her glasses. She growls, almost Green Arrow level low, clutching his wrist, “Well, I do. Let’s go outside.”

His flirty sexy face muddles into the expression of a hurt puppy dog. She grabs her designer Coach wristlet, and they adjourn to the outdoor dining area. Latin beats pulse from the in-house live band as the only things surrounding husband and wife are slushy Spring snow, trees, and a few empty tables with attached loveseats. Felicity’s hands settle on her hips, shivering a bit as cold air nips at her exposed skin.

Foot brushing against his ankle, Oliver reminds, “Honey, I was just trying to keep things exciting.”

Felicity can’t hold her supposed admonishing stare. She soon bursts into peals of laughter.

“Oliver, you’re too easy. I was just joking.”

He sighs in relief, “Oh, you little… You’re no fun.”

She shrugs. Classic black pumps clack against the concrete. The duo retires to the buttery yellow loveseat. Another shiver wracks Felicity’s body. Oliver removes his cargo jacket, draping it over her denim one. He ignites the fire pit and pulls the tiny blonde into his lap. His hands, such sweet hands, once forged into weapons caress her bare skin gently in an attempt to stay warm. A soft smile crosses her mouth at his tenderness. Their gazes lock, as they so often do, like they’d just met the love of their life — happy, pure, at ease. Regardless of the fact, they’ll be married a whole year by the end of November.

Felicity fiddles with his tie, nuzzling his nose with hers, “I love you.”

“I was hoping you did.”

“And?” She prompts, drawing out the word.

His thumb brushes over cheek, “And I love you more.”

Their lips are a mere centimeter away from touching when Felicity straddles his lap.

“Nuh-uh. Not possible.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

They are those cheesy newlywed assholes, who debate over who loves who more.

“Okay, okay, just shut up and let’s get smooching here.”

Under her spell, he responds dutifully, “Yes, Mrs. Queen.”

In public, she’s still Ms. Smoak up and coming CEO of a tech based company. One, which rightfully bears her name, Smoak Enterprises. However, when her husband turns on those piercing bedroom eyes, she’ll be Mrs. Queen for a night. Felicity is his wife, no matter the surname.

She shoves her husband back against the couch cushion. Everything falls away except the smooth vocals of a lead singer, crooning about love and lust, and those mid-tempo guitar strums interspersed throughout the song. Star City’s favorite power couple engages in a make-out session more fitted for two teenagers under the bleachers. They moan against one another’s mouths. The pecks, which never seem to end are greeted with teeth and tongue. Felicity runs her fingers through that blonde, salt and pepper hair of his. Oliver’s hands guide her hips in a tantalizingly slow grind. She nips at his bottom lip — a little harder than intended.

“Ow!” Oliver hisses.

Her neck and collarbone flush, not only from their previous ministrations, yet also with a sheen of embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry.” Felicity apologizes profusely, peppering his face with delicate pecks, “I didn’t mean to. It’s the cold.”

“It’s okay. We’re okay. I know.” He reassures with a smile, fire crackling louder as he literally turns up the heat. His voice dips, pinning her with an intense gaze. “Besides you know I don’t mind when you bite.”

A chilly breath hits his nose, Oliver’s smug. He knows his words have had an effect on her, but two can play ball. Felicity toes off her shoe. Her pale pink toenails prick his calf as she runs them underneath his pant leg. Wet kisses trail down his jaw. She cups his dick, and Oliver’s jeans are quickly becoming painfully constricting. It doesn’t help matters when Felicity sucks on his neck, marking him as hers with a small red hickey. She lets out a breathy laugh when he growls down a moan of her name.

“Something on your mind, my love?”

“You-you are — ”

God, he can’t even think of a witty comeback. All his focus is on Felicity, and more importantly, getting her back to the hotel before they get thrown in the slammer for sex in public. But his wife is trembling under his hands. Oliver doesn’t know if’s from the East Coast cold or their intense PDA session.

Felicity whispers, her voice seductive and full of promise, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“I love the way your mind works.” Oliver agrees, yet gropes around for something in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small silver flask. “It is Valentine’s Day. I think that calls for a toast.”

“Hear, hear.”

Oliver takes a swig of smooth Tennessee whiskey — a wedding gift from Dig accompanied with a custom flask. The amber liquid slides down his throat like butter. He exhales contently, and pours a shot straight into Felicity’s mouth. She attempts to swallow, grimaces, coughs, and spits it out into a potted poinsettia.

“Ugh.” The tech mogul complains, wiping her mouth, “How can you and John drink that stuff? It tastes like gasoline.”

He jokes, thinking he’s being cute “You spit it out. How dare you? That’s against the rules.”

“Oliver.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and this time, her husband knows she really means business.

“I’m sorry, Baby. Let me make it up to you.”

“Oh, come on, Queen, we both know I’m not that easy.”

Oliver pops an after dinner mint chocolate to eradicate the whiskey aftertaste in her mouth. His stubble rasps at her neck, making her giggle. Felicity tries to playfully swat him away, but in actuality, he needs to keep doing what he’s doing. An annoying cell phone buzz dampens the mood.

“It’s Bruce.”

Felicity grits, “I’d kill him if he wasn’t my silent partner in Queen BioMed.”

“Heard that Overwatch.” Bruce interjects, “Duty calls.”

“Where’s the rest of the League?”

Bruce checks off that Barry is in Tahiti with Iris. Hal is piloting a flight to Paris with Carol. Diana is training in Themyscira. Kara, Clark, and Lois are in Midvale with big news. Finally J’ohn, Shayera, and Hal are off world.

They reluctantly zip over to Wayne Manor. Oliver suits up in a matter of minutes, and the trio switches into full hero mode. A break in at the Gotham modern art museum at the exact same time as jungle cats roam freely around the Brooklyn zoo.

“Strawberries scones and hot cocoa ma’am.” The British butler offers.

She appreciates, “Why thank you, Alfred. If Raisa wasn’t nearly as good at her job, we’d need two of you, my friend.”

He clears his throat, pitch raising with glee, “Has she ask about me since our first wonderful acquaintance Ms. Smoak?”

“Felicity.” The hacker corrects, nudging his side, “And yes, she has. Maybe you should pop on by to Star City and see us sometime.”

“Sounds lovely, my dear.”

Alfred walks away with an extra pep in his step, humming _Somewhere over the Rainbow_. Ah, one can find love at any age. A glimmer of a smile manages to sneak under Bruce’s bat ears. Felicity’s fingers pound over the comically large keys at his workstation. Seriously? His computer system is something straight out of the ‘80’s. She grumbles curse words and annoyance because Bruce is too stubborn to update this monstrous clunker.

“Mugger coming up behind you, Oliver.”

With voice modulator, he assures, “I see him. I need eyes out the stolen Rembrandt.”

“I’d suggest an arrow to the air vent, my love.”

Batman rolls his eyes at the mush fest.

“On it.”

He whips his bow out of his quiver, firing a net arrow. It blocks off the last exist. After a long night, Selina Kyle’s little stunt earned a kiss from the Dark Knight. God, how he can’t quit that vixen. Art thieves are imprisoned, akin to fish in a barrel.

Bruce and Oliver stand in the Batcave like two cowboys in an old Western ready to square off.  They stare each other down before Alfred and Felicity make the two play nice.

“‘Til next time,” says Bruce, not dropping the stern macho demeanor.

Oliver adds, “You owe me one when you’re in Star City with that fancy batmobile of yours.”

“I didn’t think you’d want the help, Queen.”

“Huh?” He acknowledges, “Rumor is neither of us play well with others, but...” Oliver looks at Felicity, and happiness cracks his my-horse-is-bigger-than-your-horse facade, “You’ll learn to let some of the best people in some day.”

“I surely hope so, sir.” Alfred interrupts, stroking his pencil thin mustache.

Felicity teasingly purrs like Selina before she asks, “Alfred, would you mind taking a lady back to the Gotham Hotel?”

“It would be my pleasure, madam,” obliges the elder man before he offers her an arm.

“What? Felicity, Honey, I can take us back on my bike.”

“No, no, no, I’ll meet you there.” His wife protests, voice lulling softly, “And leave the suit on.”

Bruce shudders as if a worm crawled under his skin. Oliver smirks, hopping on his classic emerald Ducati. Felicity sits back on a plush beige leather seat. The newlyweds engage in quite a naughty conversation. So much so Alfred raises the partition and turns on his favorite opera compositions. Felicity exhales, rubbing her thighs together and composing herself before the Englishman so kindly opens her door. Oliver vaults up story by story until he zip lines from a roof nearest their twentieth floor balcony.

His boots hit the ground with a soft thud, closing the sliding door behind him. He lowers his hood, mask hanging by his neck. The sight that greets his ravenous gaze is positively alluring. Felicity lies naked on the bed, bathing in a sea of light. She rolls onto her stomach, mounting a comfy emerald green throw pillow. Felicity arches her back, ass pressed high until his gaze is drawn elsewhere from those stunning migated blue eyes of hers

“You started without me?” Oliver gulps, tone heavily laden with need.

“Mm-hm.” She hums, not even the least bit apologetic. Nor should she be.”Last time, I was here in Gotham. You couldn’t answer my call.”

“I’m so sorry, Baby.” He whines, eyes slipping shut if only for a moment.

He yanks off his gloves, itching to touch his wife. But she’s taking care of that problem all her own. Fuck, dammit, she’s so hot. His palm gravitates to the front of his leathers without even realizing it.

“I missed you so much. And I had this little pillow in my bag for the plane.” She tells him, slowly rocking her hips against the pillow. “I was so stressed. I needed to relax. Do you know what I thought of when I had this little pillow under me?”

“No.” He answers, wishing his palm was her own hand with those nimble fingers.

“You. The way you tweak my nipple.” Felicity reveals, matching the movements she speaks of, “Fucking you in the suit. Grinding against your face until I-I...”

Her pelvis slides across the pillow, hitting the perfect spot. Felicity’s moans, echo Oliver’s groans as he cums in his leather pants along with her. Heavy breaths fill the room, Felicity winces as her whole body is blanketed in a pink blush. She takes a breath, cupping her breast as aftershocks ripple over her.

“Fuck, Felicity. That was amazing.”

One eyelid pops open when Felicity’s taken aback. When did he climb on the bed? She was far too lost in her pleasure.

“Oliver, what are you—?” Her question is lost in a shuddering moan when he roots around for a nipple and takes it into his mouth. It’s taunt, dusky pink, and begging to be touched.

His teeth graze the spot ever so slightly before his tongue dips down into her belly button. Oliver tosses the pillow aside. His ring feels cool against her thigh. He buries his head between her legs, tasting the remnants of her orgasm. Soft licks build her up again, yet frustrate Felicity all at once. She tugs on his hair, keeping him in place. Her foot rests on his broad should before his tongue pierces her sweltering heat. A moan vibrates against her sex, nose bumping against her clitoris.

“Fuck!” She cries out, probably waking the neighbors as her husband reaches a spot deep inside, “ _Right there, right there, right there. Oh_!”

Her thighs clamp down on his head as she’s pushed into a second release. His eyes meet hers, and relief washes over Felicity in more ways than one. She’s thankful she didn’t choke him in the vice grip of her legs..

He pushes up from the bed with ease. She stares at him with adoration through half-lidded eyes. Oliver shucks off his combat boots and unzips his suit jacket. The work clothes join her blouse and skirt in an instant. She yanks his Under Armor shirt with ease, ignoring the subtle hum of anticipation after Felicity gingerly traipses away from the bed. His tight leather pants prove to be far more aggravating than usual. They grit their teeth, grunt, and eventually laugh at their predicament. He can only get his pants down to his knees.

“Fuck it.” Oliver waves off, “We can make this work because you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to get inside you.”

“Oh, really I couldn’t tell?” His wife teases, stroking his erection, sticky with the previous remnants of his own release earlier that night.

“Felicity, don’t.”His voice is rough and commanding. She is a boss at home and work, but when Oliver takes the lead in the bedroom it sends a thrill up her spine.

They tumble back onto the mattress. She gasps in surprise when Oliver flips Felicity onto her back. His erections lays heavily on the crease of her ass — a sharp contrast to those slow, delicate, wet kisses that trail down her spine. He pays extra special attention to her scars just as she does to his. Felicity wears them like badges of courage.

“I love you.” His breath grazes her skin.

She reminds, “I love you more.”

Before their mushy debate can continue, Felicity’s moans are muffled into the duvet. Oliver pushes in without warning until he’s deep-seated inside her. His dick trembles as her walls pulse around him. For a moment, the duo remains still, reveling in the pure sensation. They develop a slow rhythm at first, he palms her breast when her nails dig into his wrist. They meet each other thrust for thrust. She feels his mask at her back, and his leather pants against her thighs. Soon gone is the vicinity of gentle.

He pleads in a grunt, “Felicity.”

She knows what he wants, “Yeah.”

Their pace picks up speed as they fuck from behind like animals in heat. Skin slaps against skin as he pounds into her, but it’s not enough for her to come. A hand leaves her hip as he rubs her clitoris hard and fast. His name spills from her lips as they reach the edge together. He groans when he slips out of her.

They’re sweaty and spent. Oliver lifts his wife onto his chest. He could damn near fall asleep under her weight just like this. They engage in soft pecks before Felicity caresses the scars and tattoo on his torso. The couple drifts off to sleep in a mess of tangled limbs on his side of the bed.

“That was so good.”

“Eh.” Felicity jokes.

Felicity takes the lead by sunrise. They engage in one final round before breakfast. Sunlight seeps through a silver in the curtain, highlighting Felicity’s glorious curves, messy bedhead, freckles and all. They wake to the warmth of the morning and each other. She collapses against him as his hand groggily slides up and down her back.

Oliver murmurs, pressing a kiss atop her head “I don’t think we’ve gotten to stay in bed this long since Aruba.”

“I know.” Her curls tickle his skin when she scratches his back, which makes him purr like a big jungle cat, “It’s amazing.”

They nosh on toast and coffee. The pair realizes they had forgotten to exchange gifts. Felicity receives a white gold watch with a heart-shaped band while Oliver gets a green leather Rolex. Not the most creative presents, but their night sure was spectacular — hero work and all. To their surprise, red roses arrive at their Presidential suite from Bruce.

“See you later in the boardroom, Felicity

Bruce.”

Oliver drops Felicity off at work by nine. He parts with one sneaky French kiss.

“Ahem, lovebirds. This is a place of business.” Bruce interrupts.

Oliver snipes sarcastically, “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“I’ll kiss my husband whenever I please, Brucey.” Felicity cuts in, walking into the conference room with confidence.

“Felicity’s pretty feisty.”

Oliver chuckles, “Tell me something I don’t know, man.” He calls out after his wife, “I’ll pick you up at five, Honey.”

Felicity scores the angel investor’s account for Queen BioMed with her passion, intelligence, and with. No super heroics continue that day. As the sun sets, Oliver and Felicity ride on the Ducati to the airport, so they can get home to their son. They think about what a beautiful weekend it was for business and pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, if my formatting is off, my laptop has gone to Tech Village Heaven in the sky, so stories are written on my phone and tablet.  
> Reviews and Kudos are appreciated.  
> Say hey, and please let me know what you think in the comments.  
> Tumblr: [DMichelleWrites](http://dmichellewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [@dmichellewrites](https://twitter.com/dmichellewrites)


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